


Jack Frost Nipping At Your Nose

by Willowe



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowe/pseuds/Willowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Matt? What the hell are you doing out in this weather?” Foggy asks as he throws the window open. “Do you even know how cold it is outside? The weatherman is saying-”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Please don’t talk to me about the weatherman,” Matt says, leaning against the wall for support. He’s so cold. “I’ve been listening to him on every TV across Hell’s Kitchen for the past hour.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack Frost Nipping At Your Nose

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this winter fluff prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=7583902#cmt7583902) at the daredevilkinkmeme.

_“Everyone is advised to stay inside tonight, as wind chill temperatures will be dangerously low…”_

It sounds like every TV within a block of Matt is showing the same weather broadcast, full of warnings about the potential for frostbite and the snow that’s threatening to blanket the city overnight. No one is on the streets except a few late stragglers hurrying home before the weather makes that impossible. No muggers out looking for victims, none of the usual criminal organizations making any moves, no whispers of break-ins or stabbings or kidnappings. Hell’s Kitchen is quiet, for the first time in a long time.

And Matt is pretty sure that he’s frozen to this rooftop.

Even with the thermal under layers he’s wearing, and the scarf he has haphazardly wrapped around the lower part of his face, he knows that he’s been out here too long. The plan had been to go out for an hour, go back inside and warm up, go out for another hour, and repeat for as long as needed. But even an hour proved to be too long in temperatures this low, and as Matt slowly tries to work some of the stiffness out of his legs he can’t help but wonder how he’s going to make it back across Hell’s Kitchen to his apartment.

With snow already coming down the roofs are just slick enough and his senses are just dulled enough that he’s not sure if he can back to his place on the tops of the buildings. Not without running the serious risk of falling off of something. He could always just _walk_ home, through the streets and alleys (god knows there’s no one out there to see him), but…

The wind is picking up, whipping around him and driving needles of _cold_ through his body. And basic rules of living in New York- it’s always windy, especially when it gets funneled between buildings and down alleys. The same alleys he’d be walking through trying to get back to his place.

Matt’s options range from bad, to worse, to _downright stupid_ if he stays on this roof any longer and doesn’t get to his apartment-

Or any apartment, really.

Like, say, Foggy’s place two blocks from where he currently is.

Mind made up, Matt makes a careful leap over to the next building- skids a little in the slush, not too bad, he should be fine to get over to Foggy’s as long as the flurries don’t become bad enough to disrupt his other senses any more than they already are- and keeps jogging.

Damnit, he’s so cold.

Foggy’s apartment is like a beacon of warmth and hot food (chili, by the smell of it, and Matt’s stomach growls in hunger) and a TV that is blessedly _not_ playing that same damn news report. Matt doesn’t recognize whatever movie Foggy is watching, but it’s paused the moment Matt knocks on the window.

“Matt? What the hell are you doing out in this weather?” Foggy asks as he throws the window open. “Do you even know how cold it is outside? The weatherman is saying-”

“Please don’t talk to me about the weatherman,” Matt says, leaning against the wall for support. He’s so tired. “I’ve been listening to him on every TV across Hell’s Kitchen for the past…” He fumbles, not sure how long he’s actually been out. Not any longer than an hour because that wasn’t the plan, but he’s _so cold_.

“So you heard the weather reports and still thought it was a good idea to go outside.” Foggy starts walking away and Matt whines in confusion, a question that his brain didn’t completely translate into actual words. “Relax, Murdock, I’m just getting you some dry clothes. Get out of that suit, you’re soaked and frozen half to death.”

“Not half-dead,” Matt protests weakly, fingers fumbling to undo the catches on his suit.

“Yeah, I’ll be the one making that call,” Foggy calls from the other room. “Please tell me you at least had a good reason to be outside tonight. Some major criminal undertaking to thwart, or something.”

Matt shakes his head, remembers a beat later that Foggy isn’t still in the room and says, “No. No one is out.”

“Except you.” Foggy sounds closer, and Matt tracks him as he walks back over and thrusts a bundle of clothes into his hands. “Put those on, and go dump the suit in the bathtub for now. You hungry?”

“Yes.” Very hungry and less cold now that he’s inside, but more exhausted somehow. Foggy’s bathroom seems impossibly far away, but with a sigh Matt starts shuffling towards it. “Chili?”

“My mom’s recipe,” Foggy says. “You want coffee with that? Or hot chocolate?”

“Tea?” Matt asks hopefully. He stubs his toe on the bathtub, dumps the suit in it in a heap, and shuffles back to the living room to collapse on the couch.

“I think I still have a box of that gross crap you drink.” Matt listens to Foggy move around the kitchen, smells the freshly cooked chili when Foggy removes the lid from the pot, hears the gurgle of water as the kettle is filled and put on the stove to boil. There’s a blanket bunched down by his feet and Matt reaches down to grab it, tugging it up and wrapping it around himself. It smells like Foggy- everything in the apartment does, but the blanket smells like Foggy was just curled up in it himself.

“Are you sniffing my blanket?” Foggy asks as he walks over to the living room. Matt can smell the bowl of chili in his hands, the layer of shredded cheese on top that’s just starting to melt. “Don’t answer that. Here, sit up, give me the blanket back and eat your chili.”

Matt tightens his grip on the blanket with one hand and reaches out for the bowl with the other.

Foggy sighs. “Damnit, Murdock. You at least have to sit up if you want to eat this.”

Matt wriggles upright, still holding tightly to the blanket. “’m cold,” he mutters. “Let me keep the blanket and die in warm peace.”

“No one’s dying, you overdramatic baby.” Foggy sits down next to Matt, wrestles enough of the blanket away from him so they’re both covered with it, and passes him the bowl of chili. “The water for your tea should be ready in a few minutes.”

Matt listens to the sound of the kettle warming up. “Four,” he says, digging into his chili. “And a half.”

“You’re such a freak,” Foggy says fondly. He switches the TV back on and turns the volume down, probably too quiet for him but Matt appreciates the gesture.

The chili is hot, warming Matt up from the inside, and by the time the kettle whistles on the stove he feels alive enough to get up and make his cup of tea himself.

“There’s a mug already on the counter, tea bag in it,” Foggy calls over his shoulder. “Spoon sitting next to it, and sugar-”

“Cabinet to the left of the fridge, I know,” Matt interrupts with a smile. Foggy never rearranges things, and Matt doesn’t know if that’s for his benefit or not but he appreciates it nonetheless. “You want anything?”

“Hot chocolate, if you don’t mind,” Foggy says. “Packets are in the same cupboard as the sugar, you know where the mugs are.”

Matt does and he feels around for the largest one carefully. He’s pretty sure he managed to pour at least most of the hot chocolate mix into the mug, and he doesn’t spill any of the water as he fills up both his mug and Foggy’s. He carries them back over to the living room, where Foggy has stolen the blanket for himself. He uses the distraction of passing Foggy his hot chocolate to tug enough back over to cover his lap, legs curled up under him to maximize the amount of his body covered by the blanket.

“You could get your own blanket, you know,” Foggy grumbles, with no real heat behind it.

“I just made you hot chocolate,” Matt counters. “You should get another blanket.”

“Oh no, you do not want to play this game with me. I fed you and clothed you and opened my home to you, when you were dumb enough to go out in this weather. You are forever indebted to me.”

Matt doesn’t really have anything that could beat that, but he still _hmphs_ quietly and snuggles deeper under the blanket. It doesn’t actually annoy Foggy, not with the way he moves one arm so Matt can curl against his side and leech away his body heat to warm himself up even more.

“You just keep your icicle toes away from me, or so help me I will throw you back out in this storm.” The threat would have sounded slightly more serious if it wasn’t immediately followed up with, “If you want, I can put something else on TV…”

“No, this is fine,” Matt says. Between the tea and Foggy’s own body heat he’s almost completely warmed up, and with that comes a bone-deep exhaustion that Matt knows there’s no fighting. “I should probably try to get home soon…”

“Absolutely not,” Foggy says firmly. “I know you can’t see it dude, but the snow is really coming down out there. You’ll never find a cab and like hell are you walking home when the temperatures are this low. Just crash here, we’ll probably have to close the office tomorrow anyway and this way neither of us will be snowed in alone.”

Matt hums in agreement. Not moving sounds like a very good plan and he shifts so he can lean his head against Foggy’s shoulder. He whines when Foggy pries his still half-full mug of tea out of his hands, but trying to take it back seems like too much effort.

“Go to sleep, Murdock,” Foggy says quietly. “You aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

Matt nods, or at least he thinks he does. His limbs are comfortably heavy as slumber starts to set in, lulled to sleep by the comfortingly familiar smells and sounds of Foggy’s apartment.

Foggy turns off the TV and carefully shifts until Matt is lying on the couch and he can slip out without disturbing him. He cranks up the heat in his apartment slightly, finds another blanket to drape over Matt’s shoulder, and double-checks that all the windows are closed as tightly as possible. Outside, the snow continues to fall, blown about wildly by the strong winds typical of a New York winter.

In the bathroom, Foggy hangs the Daredevil suit over the curtain rod so it can drip dry and, on an impulse, takes Matt’s boots and hides them in his own closet. He’s not risking Matt waking up and trying to make it home on his own.

He texts Karen, telling her to not bother coming in to the office tomorrow but letting her know that she’s welcome at his place if she feels like braving the snow in the morning. Foggy figures if they’re going to be taking a snow day, they might as well make it a proper one.


End file.
